On Cooking and Serial Commas

I’ve had a very worky weekend–what I call a “serial comma” weekend because it has entailed editing, scheduling, and accounting tasks that just go on and on. Serial comma days are one of the downsides of self-employment. But because all this busy work has kept me home and the weather has been so temperate, I also find myself doing some serious cooking for the first time in months. Yesterday, I actually made meatballs. For a non-Italian* I make really good meatballs, which is a claim that always sounds both boastful and dirty. It’s true, though. I make really good meatballs: flavorful, spicy, light. The secret is the fennel sausage from the old-school pork store down the street. Even permakitten Gracie likes them a lot; I caught her swiping one from the pan. If only my matzo balls were so expertly rendered. (Cue my Jewish grandmother rolling in her grave. Next to lobster bisque, properly made meatballs may be the world’s least Kosher food.)

In between editing sessions at my desk, I also have made a tomato-poblano-basil-roasted eggplant sauce and an apple-kale-rosemary salad that is sturdy enough to last a few days in the fridge. Then some polenta and a very simple lentil soup–carrots, celery, chopped parsley. This is all to say that I’m good for the week, which is a sentence I’m going to have to repeat like a mantra over the next few days. “It is the courage to continue that counts,” said Churchill. Cooking and continuing: the most practical of arts.


*I learned from actual Italians.

"All, everything I understand, I understand only because I love."
― Leo Tolstoy